A Perfect Afternoon
by l0litapop
Summary: Tywin Lannister isn't afraid of the gods. Not even when he discovers what his twins are up to. Drabble. JaimexCersei. Reviews are loved!


Salt-stained air wafted in through the great bay window. The repetitive caws of gulls came with it, seeming peculiarly to echo despite the wide-open expanse of the sea. Tywin Lannister balanced his quill delicately in the bottle of stark black ink he'd been writing with to frown at the scenery. It was a perfect afternoon. Which god had thought to craft this day? And which one had deemed him bound to his desk? And which one, he wondered, hated him more?

He cast a small, dry smirk at nothing in particular and stood, leaving the ink uncovered as incentive to return soon. Letters could wait, and gods could wait. He wanted a walk. After all, the bitter irony of godhood was that any man could deny his deity when he wished, and ninety-nine percent of the time not a thing would stop him. Tywin was waiting for the day a god stood in his way. On his own estate, surrounded by riches evident of his power, he was fairly certain today was not the day.

With long, sure strides, he turned several corners until he passed along one of the balconies overlooking the Golden Gallery. Here, the air was no longer wet or scented with sea water. The waves' rage was distantly audible beneath the base of the castle, but this room was thick with what Tywin liked to think was the bladed edge of magnificence. Every inch of this room felt like a reminder of the reputation he'd returned to the Lannister name - fearsome lions with wealth and political prowess enough to destroy the enemies who refused to be bought and buy the few who were too much trouble to destroy.

Every visible surface glistened. The floors were covered in what appeared to be large, honey-gold tiles (which Tywin knew were actually made of an alloy that resisted damage better than pliable pure gold). They were exquisitely uniform. The lines between them were straight and thin and dark, separating one handcrafted plate from the next. It always satisfied him, the way they aligned so seamlessly against one another.

He was about to turn another corner to approach the grand steps that would carry him nearer to the door. But there was a sound from further down the hallway - a muffled voice. A familiar one. With a brief pause, he wondered if it was worth his time to investigate. The pause was long enough for the voice to come sharply down the hallway again.

"Cersei."

"Again."

"Cersei!"

Recognition hit him slowly as his mind denied its own attempts to put faces to the words. Frozen in place, he waited until another word was spoken.

"Again," repeated Cersei, breathless.

"Cersei-!" Jaime's voice caught in a quiet grunt. There was a low gasp and then a higher groan, a few moments later. Rooted to his place before the corner, Tywin stared down the corridor. The door was right there, just a few paces away, cracked open. His _children…_? No. _Impossible._ Not his kin.

But even in shock, Tywin's shoulders remained square in solemn dignity. The only evidence for his horror was a tense jaw and a new depth to the hollowness that always dwelled beneath the glint in his eye. Without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he approached the door. It wavered on its own slightly, nudged by what he recognized as the breeze from an open window. Struggling to keep his hand from shaking, he reached for the handle. Jaime's voice came from just beyond the door, quiet and muffled. Tywin couldn't make out another word. A part of him was grateful for that.

In a swift, resolute motion, he wrapped his fingers around the handle and tugged on the door. It shut with a satisfactory thud that alarmed the servants downstairs. He waited for a moment, his hand lingering.

"Who was that?" hissed Cersei.

"The breeze in the window," replied Jaime casually, his voice still muffled. Tywin shuddered, recalling how his face always became obscured by Cersei's hair when they embraced. That wasn't brotherly love, was it? Scowling and aggressively resisting what felt like the temptation to vomit, he stormed down the stairs. Suddenly, the crimson Lannister banner and glittering tiles of the Golden Gallery seemed less impressive. Was it not now tarnished in sin?

Which god had brought _this_ upon him?

For a moment, he stood in the Gallery before the velvet banner. Embroidered in a bed of velvet was the golden lion, towering high over the room and forever poised for attack. Could the lion ever assert enough glory, he wondered, to eclipse what his heir and princess were doing upstairs?

His eyes fell slowly to the glistening tiles, tracing the lines back to the wall and then back to the banner. In hindsight, Tywin would wonder if it was his own brand of quiet desperation that brought him to consider marriage. Could they marry? Jaime and Cersei?

No, the Lannisters were no savages, and it would be strategically daft. After everything he'd worked for, marrying his _twins_ would be suicide. As his rightful heir and only daughter, they had to marry into higher houses. There was no other way to draw closer to the Iron Throne.

Disgusted with himself for entertaining an inarguably repugnant idea, he turned on his heel. Glancing back down at the floor, he watched momentarily as he crossed over that perfect grid toward the doors. Perhaps it was a Lannister trait, to cross lines. Perhaps even those that weren't meant to be crossed.

His mind wandered briefly to the unfinished letter in his office. Stepping out into the picturesque seaside summer, he took a steadying breath. When he shut the door behind him, he imagined it shutting in the face of a god.


End file.
